You tell him no and the silence in return reminds you that you are only a star as long as you serve people a purpose, as long as they have something to gain from your glow. It is a good reminder to shine mostly for yourself. I woke up this morning with a pile of moving boxes deposited in the living room, drunken jackpots picked up from the street. Ask and the city shall provide.
I went to the typewriter repair shop and deposited all my collected coins into their hands to bring home the mintgreen machine whose absence has sat in my chest all this time. I smiled when I saw it, my fingers running gently over the cleaned keys and oiled parts like reconnecting with a lover. We sat later, at the cheap bar, running up the only tab the Village will let us afford anymore, bemoaning our devotion to the Word, to the poor pursuit of our literary visions, rolling our eyes at our own clichés.
But here's the thing, we said in chorus, we wouldn't have it any other way.
The stumble home through Washington Square Park, all cherry blossoms and heathen rituals, was lighter then, worth the worry, impossibly. We are still alive. That'll do.
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